


L’Ange Déchu

by CheshireCatnip



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Art, Cute, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gender-Neutral Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Gentle Kissing, Inspired by Art, M/M, MC x Lucifer - Freeform, Possibility of Smut Chapter Later, Reader x Lucifer - Freeform, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24368497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCatnip/pseuds/CheshireCatnip
Summary: You can’t sleep, so you find yourself buried in an art book in the library of the House of Lamentation. Lucifer checks on you.fluffy cuteness inside*CONTAINS SPOILERS OF CHAPTER 16 & ONWARD*& Check out my other Obey Me fics while you’re at it! c;
Relationships: Lucifer & Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader, Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Lucifer/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 270





	L’Ange Déchu

The fireplace crackled, the only sound in the library besides the distant echoing of your thoughts. 

A nightmare had shaken you to raw consciousness, the vision of the life force of your parallel self flooding out of you in a sea of crimson, becoming no more. 

Sleep had evaded you after that for hours, no end in sight. So, you’d quietly journeyed down to the library, eager to find something to fill your head besides this sudden anxiety that had worked its way into you. 

It hadn’t been many weeks since a part of you had died, quickly followed up by the discovery of your lineage along with your true relationship to your housemates. So much had changed after that; the affection they gave you tripled overnight, and honestly it was great. 

But the information gnawed at you. 

The realization that you had no _real_ human to confide in made you feel incredibly alone, left to digest the gravity of the situation by yourself. Sure, there was Solomon, but it was quite apparent through his exploit of dark magic that his age and wisdom were not as they seemed. He may as well have been as human now as any one of the demon brothers. 

It’s not that the idea of fate wasn’t pleasing, knowing that you were tied to the creation of time and _the_ Creator himself. It should have been a gift of solace to you. 

You just couldn’t help that it almost made you feel cheated instead. Like your life had been a fallacy, a written play you just went through the motions of acting out. 

How much of you was you?

How much of you was Lilith? 

Did the brothers love _you_? 

Or did the brothers just love the essence of Lilith that remained in you?

You knew you were being ridiculous. Truly, who should be able to find fault in being a descendant of an angel?

How dare you look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Attempting to shake your head of your thoughts, you returned your attention to the art book in your lap. 

You didn’t recall stopping on the page that peered up at you. Red rimmed eyes dripping in wrath gazed outwards, a single tear threatening to fall down a rigid cheek. 

Cabanel, Alexandre. L’Ange Déchu (1847), oil on canvas; Musée Fabre, France. 

As if arriving on cue to the scene of your life, the library door swiftly opened, stealing your attention. 

The eldest and most powerful of the seven sins stepped into the room. Upon noticing your form, you saw slight confusion pass over him, questioning your presence. 

It was pitiful how your heart always raced when he looked at you, but especially now when you were well aware of the hour of the morning. The Avatar of Pride was quite strict about his ideal of ‘early to bed, early to rise.’

The anger you had expected did not cross his features. 

“What are you doing awake this hour?” he questioned, closing some distance between you as he neared the sitting area. 

You smiled at him, humorless. “I know, I should be in bed. Just couldn’t seem to sleep. And you?” 

Lucifer turned his gaze to the book-lined walls of the library. “I needed a certain book to cite my sources for a report,” he answered, before shifting his gaze back to you. 

You loosely thumbed the page of the book in your lap, unwilling to offer up the burdens of your mind. Lucifer already dealt with so much; the last thing he needed was to hear you complaining about angel’s blood in your veins or the death of a you who no longer existed. 

The whoosh of fabric caught your focus. You looked up to see the ebony haired demon smoothing his cloak over the back of the reading chair near the fireplace. He stood straight, somehow seeming taller now that the garment no longer obscured his slender build. 

Turning to face you, he breezed by to sit on the opposite end of the couch. His silence didn’t surprise you; the eldest demon was oftentimes quiet. But hadn’t he said he’d just come to get a book for his report?

You could feel his gaze on you. Your sight remained glued to the eyes on the page before you. The intensity behind Lucifer’s stare always made you feel so exposed, so unable to hide. His wit was undeniable, his intuition so drastically on point that it frustrated you sometimes. You knew if you allowed him, he would read you like any other book within these walls. 

“It must be interesting.” 

The low baritone of his voice cut the silence, startling you, and you met his intrigued gaze. 

“What?” you asked. 

He directed his eyes to the book in your lap.  
“You haven’t turned the page.” 

Oh. 

“Heh, I guess I just like this painting.” 

He scooted microscopically closer to you, peering by your shoulder to look. “What is it?” 

A breeze of bashfulness ghosted over you. 

“It’s, um,” you stuttered, gulping, “it’s sort of a painting of you.”

His brows furrowed in inquiry. 

“From the human world,” you elaborated. “It’s quite famous. It’s called L’Ange Déchu, meaning—“

“The Fallen Angel,” he interrupted briskly, finishing the sentence. 

You nodded to him with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry if that hits a bit too close to home.”

He shook his head, black waves of hair fluttering softly. “You have no need to apologize to me.” 

Each of your gazes returned to the book, silent. 

“Why do you like it?” he pried after a moment. 

You hummed, trying to gather your thoughts.  
“I guess I like it because I actually know you now. It’s interesting to me that I can compare what humanity thought of you to the real thing.” 

He tilted his head to you. “And how well do you think they captured me?” 

Glancing at him from under your lashes, you let your honesty speak, “They never could have predicted your beauty.” 

If the demon’s eyes were any indication of his thoughts, then he seemed only entirely bored. 

However, the opposite was the case. 

Typically, Lucifer hated to be complimented in regards to his appearance. Diavolo had ruined the luster centuries ago. 

But hearing it from you, it resonated within him, resounding in his ears. It was true that the prideful demon had grown quite fond of you over time, especially with more recent events in mind. 

He had come to respect you and your outlook on things; often he would ask your assistance or opinion and you would always willingly oblige. However, you never were with him quite how you were with his younger siblings. He would occasionally catch himself wondering if you cared much for him, if you would choose to be associated with him were it an option. He liked to think he didn’t mind what the answer would be, but that admittedly was not true.

“Can I tell you something?” you turned to face him, ending his train of thought. 

“Of course.” His eyes burned like a fire well tended. 

“Before I came here, when I was still topside,” you swallowed, nervous, “I didn’t believe in angels or demons, things like that. Honestly, I never really devoted any thought to it.” 

His gaze was fixated on yours, intent, waiting for you to go on. 

“And one day I just blinked, and when I opened my eyes, I was in the council room. I noticed you immediately. It was so dark, but your eyes glowed like a beacon calling out to me,” the passion in your voice began to rise as you recollected the memory, “I couldn’t look away. When Diavolo introduced you, it was no question to me that you were _the_ Lucifer.” 

“Why is that?” he crossed his arms, intrigued in your story. 

You couldn’t stifle your sincerity, so you simply plunged headfirst into it. 

“Your radiance was undeniable. There was no chance that you could have been anything less than a fallen angel.”

You swiftly trailed your line of sight downwards, hiding the pink sheen of embarrassment that tinged your face. However, you continued, lost in the whirlpool of your first memory of the demon beside you. 

“Diavolo was front and center, but there was such a gravity to your presence. You exuded an air of grace like I’ve never felt,” you conveyed your thoughts as directly as you could muster. It was so difficult to put the Morning Star himself into words. 

“The painting is gorgeous, don’t get me wrong. There’s an intensity within it that’s not easily created... but, it’s only a glimpse of your magnitude.” You attempted to catch yourself but failed, spilling out the words, “You’re the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen.”

Your praise had become too prominent. You felt entirely too vulnerable to look at the demon now. Hopefully he didn’t find your words inappropriate. 

Lucifer was thankful that you were too bashful to look at him as you’d spoken. He felt his eyes widen and heat lick his nose. He held his crossed arms tighter against his body, looking to the fireplace in silence. He never fully knew how to accept such direct praise. It’s hard to take pride in something one can’t outright control, like their physicality. However this was more than just that. You were outwardly speaking of the aura of his soul without knowing, how his energy poured out of him and allegedly struck you to your core. 

A couple feet from the demon, you traced your fingers over the printed stare bound within the pages. 

“I think he got your eyes right, though,” you muttered, not entirely aware you’d said it aloud. 

Lucifer drew his attention back to you, composure regained. “Is that so?” 

In an instant he was beside you, the brush of his suit coat sleek against your bare arm. The close proximity forced your focus to him, and you stared into the paleness of his face, entranced like always. He examined the artwork in your lap before leveling his head with yours. 

“You tell me if it’s right,” he commanded, fierce crimson orbs demanding. 

Your heart skipped, thumping in your chest to catch up to pace. You did as told, however, and allowed yourself to roam the pair of deep red pools of the demon before you. 

His eyes faded an onyx and carmine gradient so intense you couldn’t begin to escape. The thick wisps of his lashes shrouded his gaze in a dark mystery that intoxicated you, like a distant horizon dancing with flames. 

You regarded him carefully, tracing over the details of his face as your breath caught. He was so close. His scent, like sandalwood and smoke, encompassed you. His expression was devoid of the typical smirk, wearing instead the face of careful consideration. 

You remained too preoccupied to realize he’d taken advantage of the situation to look you over, as well. It wasn’t often Lucifer shared the gift of solitude with you, nor was he typically able to really admire the human before him. You spoke of beauty like it was something only outside of yourself, when that simply wasn’t so. 

The fact was that the Avatar of Pride shared your sentiment, that the being sat before them were the most beautiful they’d ever seen. 

Each of you sat sideways in your seats, facing each other a breath apart. The intimacy of your proximity wasn’t lost to him. The sweeping blush stinging your cheeks told him that you noticed it, too. 

“I think,” you breathed, quiet as if to keep the moment soft, “your eyes are like something caged, something touched by wrath.”

The smirk you received sent you reeling. “Wrath? Do you think me so hateful?” he mused lowly, teasing. 

You shook your head deliberately, still caught in his web. “No. There’s something else I can’t describe, like a solemn understanding of the world around you.” 

Lucifer’s eyes radiated the softness you spoke of as he looked at you, though even in the softness still resonated a potent storm. 

Suddenly you grinned, chuckling the seriousness of the moment away. Breaking your gaze from the demon’s and returning it to the book, you shrugged. 

“I guess the real deal can’t be painted so easily, after all.” You tucked a fallen strand of hair back, feeling bashful yet again. 

The entity beside you kept his watchful eye over your features. You’d turned away from him just enough that he witnessed the winding flames from the fireplace reflecting in your eyes. When you’d moved your hair away from your neck, he caught the aroma of your skin, light and sweet like fresh honeydew. He observed as you absently bit at your lip, nervous, wetting the softness of your mouth. 

He was well aware of the anxiety you were feebly attempting to keep from him. It wasn’t without cause that you were awake, hidden away in the comfort of the library. It also wasn’t without cause that Lucifer had come here, to sit with you, be with you. The desire to console the human he cared for gripped him, refusing to let go until he helped resolve what burdened you. 

Who would have thought a human like you would stir up these feelings in him? 

Gently, gloved hands reached into your lap to retrieve the book that kept stealing away your attention. The eldest brother clamped it shut, setting it on the coffee table out of your reach. 

“Tell me what’s wrong. Why couldn’t you sleep?” his voice echoed with authority, leaving no option for anything less than your cooperative sincerity. 

You allowed a sigh to escape, filling the air after a long and drawn out moment of stillness. You’d known it was only a matter of time. But you grinned with melancholic resolve, caught red handed. 

“It’s just been a long couple weeks,” you offered briskly. Truly, you didn’t have it in you to put such a weight onto the demon. He deserved no such heartache. 

However, Lucifer required nothing further from you to quickly comprehend what tortured your mind. He felt his shoulders lax just the smallest amount. 

He truly felt so responsible for you, so destined to oversee your health and happiness. To see it falter, to see your eyes so wracked with turmoil—

It pained him. 

He understood better than his brothers what happened to you the day you’d released Belphie. He had memorized the expression painted on your face when you’d seen yourself, clutched in the hands of Mammon, dripping with blood much too warm. 

Lucifer ached, realizing with dread that you’d not spoken a single woe about what had occurred that day. You’d hidden your suffering away from the demon brothers.

Away from _him._

How lonely you must have felt. 

Before he registered he’d even moved, he had swept you into his arms. Pulling you so close that you were sat partially in his lap, he pressed you firmly to his chest, encompassing you with his warmth. A single gloved hand tucked your head beneath his chin, caressing the slope of your neck and tucking into your hair. His other arm held you steadfast around the waist, palm planted in the center of your back and rubbing deliberate circles into the muscles there. 

Your cheek stained pink against his collar, and for all the surprise, it took you a moment to fully register the body cradling you. It didn’t take long until you slowly relaxed, letting your fingers drift to find him, curling into the fabric between his shoulder blades as if grasping for feathered wings. Allowing yourself to fully sink into the embrace, you buried your face into the crook of his neck, shutting your eyes and simply existing in his comfort. 

His scent and warmth completely enveloped you now, reminding you in every sense the solace of a fire-lit beacon on a sandy shore, ushering to safety those caught at stormy sea. 

You felt the thrum of vibrations in the crease of his neck when he spoke, “I want you to know that you can come to me when you’re in pain. I don’t ever want to find out that you’ve been suffering alone.” He squeezed you tighter, and in that instance you melted into it, feeling for every second that you were on the brink of tears. 

“You do so much for my brothers and I. I hope you know that we all would gladly do anything for you in return,” his voice rumbled, resounding so affectionately in your ears. His words were lathered in a sweetness you’d never heard before. 

He coaxed your head back in his hand, keeping you locked snugly in his grasp as he gazed down into your face. 

“Do you know how much I appreciate you?” his eyes were narrow, seriousness blazing within. He needed you to understand. 

The sting of tears confirmed the weakness in you. The tenderness of consolation from the Avatar of Pride seeped into your core, leaving you an emotional mess. You merely closed your eyes in brief nod, letting your head fall down a bit to lean with all you had into the palm that cupped your cheek. 

The watery shine in your eyes bit into Lucifer’s chest, and he let himself pull you to him a second time. He pressed his mouth softly to your temple, a statuesque kiss. 

Each of you sat together, entwined, for what felt like the best of your years. The rhythmic thumping in your chests aligned, mimicking the other’s in perfect synchronization. 

Enough time had come to pass shortly thereafter, and your tears had subsided finally. You began to look up and thank the demon in your arms, at the same time that he’d pulled back just enough to attempt to again kiss your forehead. 

Your movement caused the plush pressure of lips to brush at the corner of your mouth, catching you so deftly off guard that you reeled back without thought, nearly falling off the couch had the demon not held you steadfast. 

A blush red as the eyes upon you blossomed over your cheeks, the heat rousing embarrassment that washed over you like a sunburn. 

“Ah—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—“ 

You were interrupted by the chime of laughter, light and melodic. 

Lucifer wore a grin so pure that it made your heart sing in awe. Instantly the song worked to settle and dissolve the shyness that encircled you. 

His ring of delight echoed away, and he settled his saccharine gaze on you once more. The gentlest smirk adorned his lips. 

“If you wanted a kiss, all you need do is ask.” 

It was then that you realized how closely you still remained to the eldest demon. Your hands, forgotten when you’d pushed away in panic, gripped him lightly at the chest. His own hands held you tightly at the waist, thumbs running lovingly along your sides. 

Your breath escaped you in the heat of the moment, peering up doe-eyed at the Avatar of Pride. You couldn’t concentrate between the immense depth of his gaze or the pastel wetness of his mouth, both of which beckoned you closer like a siren calling men out to sea. 

Sensing your bashful reservation, the demon hummed compassionately. The ebony of his hair drifted to frame his face, accentuating the resolve that shined in his expression.

“Allow me, then,” he purred, the timbre of his voice dark and rich like caramel. 

Lucifer took your face in both hands, bringing you to him at the same time that he dipped down, kissing you with the softness of a thousand butterflies brushing against your lips at once. 

You all but liquified at his touch, melding into him like it was your life’s purpose. Your hands trailed above his chest to slide along his neck, upwards further to caress his jaw line and into black locks. 

Demon and human kissed tenderly, savoring the sweetness of the other. 

Lucifer wanted to eat up every bit of the gentleness that was you. He snuck a hand to your chin, gripping it firmly to command your lips apart. The added space allowed him to swiftly bite your bottom lip, earning an embarrassed mewl. 

Already too scorched with bewildered desire, you withdrew, fixated on the face of beauty inches away. 

The morning star couldn’t help but adore the innocence that shown on you. He yearned, terribly so, to devour the naivety that radiated from you, pure and holy and all too corruptible. 

His cheshire cat grin curled smugly across his features as he stood, offering you his hand. 

“Come, little one; it’s time for bed,” he ordered, pausing briefly before continuing lowly, “though I’m not sure you’ll be getting any rest.” 

An inferno of need blazed within as you slid your hand into his, mirroring the fire in his eyes. 

May your fallen angel lead you to your demise. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was so hard to write, lord Diavolo! But I would not settle until it was done, because this is cute as hell, if I say so myself!  
> TT u TT Luci is a big softy  
> until he’s not lmao  
> also I totally left this open for some major banging later if I can manage writing for him again~ he’s so formal! a suave gentleman! 
> 
> As always, kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are so appreciated! Sincerely, y’all don’t understand how uplifted I feel to hear from you! Your comments fuel me, like gasoline to flame. GIMME THE GASOLINE


End file.
